Lady
by WhySoSilent94
Summary: They only ever knew her by her husband's name... until now. A fresh retelling of Macbeth from the point of view of the women, along with a few other familiar faces. *R R or I won't continue. Thank you.*


Lady

By WhySoSilent94

**Disclaimer: I am not Shakespeare. I simply admire him, one of the greatest playwrights in existance.**

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My name is Adriana. My sisters call me Addie. You know me not. Wash this blood from my hands. Listen to my story.

~*~

"Lady Macbeth, there is a messenger at the door for you," My handmaid reported, deep in a curtsey.

"Take the message and let him off," I ordered. My hair, black and down to my waist, was drying into its soft curls and I was in no mood to see visitors. Gazing in the mirror, I now know why my favorite sister, Regan, claimed I was the fairest of us all. My hair was curling into ringlets, my skin just a honeyed complexion. My eyes were a striking green. None of my three sisters shared my eyes; they all had the beautiful mysterious black irises that all witches have. Yes, my sisters and I are witches. Goneril is eldest, then Regan, then I, and finally Cornelia. But there used to be a fifth, older than I and younger than Regan. I could not bear to think her name.

"He shall have none of it, Lady," My handmaid once again stated.

I rolled my eyes and sighed dramatically. "Help me to dress then, and show him to the main hall,"

The handmaid nodded obediently, and another took her place and helped my to dress: a blood red gown, my hair I left loose, and a Macbeth tartan sash that crossed from one shoulder and wrapped round my waist. The smile that lingered on my face lasted all the way down the stairs to the hall. There, it vanished.

The messenger was clothed all in black, but his hair was black and graying. From the looks of his frazzled appearance I assumed he brought only news of dread.

"Have you news about my husband, Macbeth?" I stammered.

The messenger only nodded, handing me an envelope that was sealed with the seal of King Duncan of Scotland, curse his very name. I wasted no time in escorting the messenger to the door, and then hurried to my bedchamber, my trembling hands tearing at the parchment. I read the words:

_To my dearest wife;_

_Has it been months since we were last together? I write with great news. We have won the battle against the Norwegians, and I was walking with Banquo. Do you remember him? His wife and you are close friends. When what should we come upon, but a host of witches! Three of them, one was tall and had olive skin and fiery red hair, another had pale skin and dark hair, and the last had fair skin and tresses._

Here I paused in my reading. My husband had accurately described my three sisters: Goneril, Regan, and Cornelia.

_The first called out: "Hail Macbeth, Thane of Glamis,"_

_The second: "Hail Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor,"_

_The third: "Hail Macbeth, King of all Scotland yet to come,"_

_My dearest wife I know that they must be witches! For at once following my friend Banquo cried:_

"_And what of me, spirits?"_

_To which they replied: "Hail Banquo whose fate he does not justly deserve,"_

_Then upon me came Duncan our King and my good friend. He heralded me as Thane of Glamis, and then announced that the Thane of Cawdor had been treacherous. And so, Lady, I am now Thane of Cawdor and Glamis! If indeed the witches prophesy is true, I shall be king in the future and you, my dear, shall be queen!_

_Yours, Beloved,_

I was silent. I knew at once why my sisters wished to do this to us.

Sworn off love, they were jealous and ashamed of my marriage. Years ago we had made a pact, never to love but to remain as we were: unchanging.

Macbeth saw me one day when I was apprentice to a midwife. I was grinding herbs with my marble pestle and mortar, and he stepped off of his horse to kiss my hand. And so, I was betrothed.

When my sisters heard of this they were infuriated.

"How dare you!" Cornelia shrieked at me, tears running down her face. "You broke a sacred bond that we made!"  
"I have broken no bond!" I whispered.

"You have lied to us," Goneril stated, her voice hoarse and dangerous.

Regan was not angry, but sad.

"Shall I never see you again?" She murmured.

I was never the same.

And now, in my time of need, I was going to them once more.

I pulled on my brown traveling cloak and took a black mare down the winding dusty road that led to a supposed midwife's cottage. I stepped off the mare, and tentatively knocked on the door.

"Who goes there?" The deep and thunderous voice of Goneril roared.

"Sister, who else but I?" I murmured meekly.

The door creaked open. I saw my sisters, all wearing plain black robes and embroidered shawls, sitting like old maids before the hearth.

"Ah, Addie!" Regan cried. She stood abruptly and dropped the stitching she had been doing. "How do you fare?"

"Not well, I fear," I replied.

Reagan returned to her seat after gesturing that I sit also, and then Goneril addressed me.

"We have been doing some planting, dearest," She cackled. "We have sown seeds of doubt in your mind."

I frowned, but remained silent. Goneril raised one bushy red eyebrow menacingly but sighed.

"Sister, you know no fear," she grumbled, rising from her place of honor in the largest chair and stoking the fire. The sparks flew, and the steam from the kettle that hung at the hearth was white and airy. Goneril summoned four mismatched pieces of crockery (which I soon recognized as mugs) and filled them with hot, strong tea. A pain at my temple: magic.

"Addie, will you-" Reagan aprubtly stopped speaking. All eyes were on her.

"Yes, sister?"

"I wish to return with you," Reagan whispered. "As your handmaid."

"As you will, Reagan," I smiled a half-smile.

I sipped contently and remembered better times, and hoped that Macbeth had eluded my sister's spell.

And, as all tales of magic and woe end up, I was wrong.

_~*~_

I rode like the wind to my castle, arriving just in time to see Macbeth there, waiting. He welcomed me with open arms, and I was crushed in his embrace.

"The king is coming here," He smiled. "To stay."

I blanched, but nodded my consent.

"Let us prepare him the finest rooms in the castle," I stuttered. My husband took my arm and we strolled out to a balcony, overlooking a great body of water.

"Lady," He murmured. "You and I both know that this night shall be his last. The witches prophecy…"  
"We shall speak of that no more," I stammered. My heart pounding, I broke free of my husband's cold arms and bushy red beard. Of course King Duncan scorned us openly; of course the wife of Banquo, a woman called Jacqueline, had envied me with a red hot jealousy that spread to words. She loved Macbeth more than her husband. My head pounded to think of it.

The banquet was prepared. Eighteen courses, three of them puddings, were laid on our best dishes at the castle, and silverware of gold and rubies at each place. King Duncan was seated at the head of the table with Macbeth at his right hand side. I sat at the other end of the table, at the King's request. Wine was brought out, and then the King, as if he was in his own house, rose to propose a toast. Reagan hesitantly put her hand on my shoulder.

"To the new Thane, Macbeth!" cried the King.

"Hear, hear!" we all called.

"To a new chapter in Scottish history!"  
"Hear, hear!"  
"To Macbeth's wife, the beautiful Lady, shall she see me in my chamber before I retire?"  
"Of course, sire." Only the King and Macbeth heard my words.

I arrived dressed my gown of white satin.

"You wished to see me, my lord?"

Duncan appeared from the shadows. I smelt the stench of alcohol on his breath.

"So your old brute of a husband finally let you go, eh?"

I backed away without meaning to.

"Close the doors," Duncan commanded his man-at-arms. They creaked as they closed, then I heard a click of a key being turned.

Uneasiness settled in the pit of my stomach. "Sire- "

"Let me talk now, Lady. That's all you are called by, right? I've been watching you all night, don't you know it."  
"Sir, I must protest-"

"You're a pretty young thing, aren't you? I wonder what that face would look like twisted in pain?"

I swallowed, my eyes darting from the dagger as long as my forearm to the malicious glint in Duncan's eyes. Back and forth. A pendulum.

The King took a step forward, staggering a bit with the wine. "Or perhaps… pleasure?"

I sensed a split second of nothingness, when time stopped and I felt numb.

Then he lunged for me.

----

Let me know what you think! Should I continue, or scrap this one for another time?


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